By Jenny North
Artwork by Fraylim and Splutt

* * * * *

So...here's the thing about superheroes.

Superheroes are really easily to manipulate, and I'm not just talking in the "evil mastermind scheme" kind of way, either. After all, it takes a certain kind of person to wear brightly-colored tights in public and fight for nebulous concepts like truth and justice, because in my experience most ordinary people require slightly more tangible and achievable things to fight for. A parking place close to the mall, for instance. But heroes almost always have big egos, which makes us easy to predict and manipulate. For example, there used to be this four-piece instrumental street band that would play on this one corner and whenever a superhero fight broke out—which would happen more often than you might imagine—they'd break out into a pretty capable rendition of John Williams' theme from Superman. It was outstanding. That quickly became the safest street corner in Faraday City what with all the young heroes who would patrol through there in the hopes that some thugs would start something. Of course it wasn't until some time later that it came out that the band was actually hired by a crime boss who wanted to draw heroes away from her operations on the other side of the city.

But you know what? I still miss those guys.

So my notion of meeting with Enchantrix to suggest to her that her mentor might be involved in something shady...I knew it was going to be a hard pill for her to swallow. Even after the tremendous bullshit that Prodigy had put me through, I bet I would have leaped to his defense, too. Probably. Maybe. "Leaped" is a strong word. Maybe "moseyed" to his defense. You get the idea.

Which is why I asked Trixie to meet me where I did. Here on Astral Bridge where I'd almost quit after that first fight, and where she'd talked me out of it. Here, where we first became friends.

I watched the skies and soon saw the telltale glimmer of her teleportal as she approached from over the line of buildings across the street. A blink later, she was standing next to me in a flash.

"Hey, Peej! So what's up you couldn't talk over the communicator? You were all mysterious. Is everything okay with Prodigy?"

"He's fine," I said slowly. "Look, Trixie, there's something I need to talk to you about..."

And I laid it all out for her. I reminded her about the big fight at the warehouse and told her all the things I'd learned. I showed her the database entry for Killbane and told her how he'd fought beside me as Blamestorm. I even told her about meeting him at the mall in our secret identities, though I carefully omitted the part about me not actually being a girl.

"And you think Harridan is behind this?" she asked.

"We left her with Killbane and Killdozer, but neither of them was arrested. She must know something."

"Well, what happened to the father? Killdozer?"

"I don't know. I have...someone...looking into it, but right now it looks like he's disappeared." She nodded, and I pressed on. "Trixie, you said that you and Mari knew Harridan. How?"

"We met her at—" Her face turned to stone. "No."

"I'm not accusing—"

"Yes, you are! Peej, there's no way Demetria is behind this. You don't know her. She's the gentlest soul I've ever met. I owe her so much. And you think she's—what? Brainwashing people?"

"Okay, so maybe it's not her. Maybe Harridan is working with someone else at the Sanctuary."

She shook her head. "No. Not possible."

"Why?"

"Because Harridan's disappeared, too. She hasn't been to the Sanctuary, and Demetria rescinded Harridan's access after condemning her violent methods. Nobody has seen her in weeks."

"And that doesn't seem suspicious?"

"Of course! But Demetria never leaves. Harridan must be working with someone else on the outside."

"Maybe," I said. "Look, Trixie, I need to talk to Demetria again, and Prodigy won't listen to me about this, so—"

"You told Prodigy?" she said accusingly.

"What else could I do?"

"You could have come to me, for starters!" she cried. "Peej, Demetria trusts you! I trust you! This isn't a conspiracy! That old man has got you looking for villains behind every tree."

"Look, just let me talk to Demetria—"

"Why? So you can accuse her? Peej, there is no way I'm letting you screw this up for me. I'll talk to her."

"What? No!" I said in a panic. "If I'm right and she is in on it—"

"Gods, will you listen to yourself?"

I held her by the shoulders. "Trixie, please, I'm begging you, don't get involved. I'll work on finding Harridan. Just promise me you'll stay away from Demetria until I'm sure."

She shrugged out of my grasp and looked at me seriously. "You want to go digging for dirt, you start with that old fossil you're working for. From what I've heard—" She shook her head. "You're the one who should be watching her back. Don't worry about watching mine."

"Trixie!" I shouted as she disappeared in a flash. I almost took off after her but I had no idea what else there was to say.

But one way or the other I had to get to the bottom of this mess.

* * * * *

So, here's me. You know, a pretty ordinary teenage guy who's occasionally a superheroine that deals with inconsequential little issues like saving people's lives and protecting the city from the creeping horrors of the unknown. Oh, and in order to protect my secret identity I was also forced to pretend to be a crossdresser with a breast fetish in my spare time. Which, y'know, had the side effect of destroying any meager social life that I might have had left over after being a secret superhero. But with all that going on, you know the hardest thing I had to deal with in my life?

School.

Yes, because from 8:10 until 2:55 every day, I had to pretend like everything was normal. Since school was the only time I was still permitted by my parents to dress as a guy, you might think it was a relief to just be a normal teenager with normal problems like Trigonometry, acne, or trying to get a date (preferably with a girl). Unfortunately, my classmates were well aware that everything was anything but normal, and while my superheroing remained on the down low, my crossdressing was very much on the...'way up high,' I guess. So for me to show up dressed as a guy every day was largely viewed as madcap irony.

I tell you all this not to bore you with the mundane aspects of what was the last semi-normal bastion of my life, but so that you will understand that given all the other stuff I had going on, I could perhaps be forgiven for being on my Very Last Nerve.

The day had started off like any other, and before the first bell rang I made a point to talk to Leah Paredes. She was the girl in my study group who had come to my defense when I showed up on her doorstep looking like one of the girls from the cheerleading squad and everybody else in the group wanted nothing to do with me. I was still smarting over my falling out with Trixie and realized that friends were in short supply these days, especially ones who would stick their necks out for me.

I saw Leah by her locker chatting with a couple of other girls, and as I approached them her friends started to snicker.

"Love the pierced ears, girlfriend," one of them said to me, causing the other to laugh.

I let the comment pass. "Hey, Leah, can I talk to you for a second?" I asked.

She excused herself and as they wandered off I heard one of the girls make some comment about wannabe lesbianism.

"Just ignore them," Leah said.

"Why do you hang out with them, anyway? You're so much better than they are."

"They're not usually so bad. I think they're just pissed that you make a better girl than they do," she said with a grin.

I felt my face flush. "Um..."

"Oh my gosh, are you blushing? I swear, you are so cute."

Wait, did she just call me cute? I thought. I tried to focus. "I, uh, just wanted to apologize for what happened at the study group," I said.

"What are you apologizing for? Two weeks ago I wore a polka dot bow in my hair and people are still giving me grief about it. I can't imagine what you must be going through. If anybody should apologize, it's me. I'm sorry about shuffling you out of there, but if my parents had seen you like that, well, it wouldn't have been good. They don't want me hanging around with you."

"Oh," I said, trying to hide how dejected I felt. "Well, I under—"

"They're idiots," she declared.

"Look, Leah, I don't want to get you in any trouble—"

"Yeah, well, I don't want other people telling me who I can have as friends, so I guess you've got a problem."

I smiled in spite of myself. The crossdressing had made me a social pariah at school, and my superheroics had eroded my free time to the point that having or making friends was a luxury I couldn't afford. Caleb had stood by me, but the idea that a girl might be interested in me even as a friend never crossed my mind.

I cleared my throat and shrugged slightly. "Say, Leah, I—OOF!"

Out of nowhere, some idiot had come up behind me and shoved me into the row of lockers. I still had all of my powers so I could have easily shrugged it off, but then my would-be attacker might wonder why a scrawny kid like me had the staying power of an NFL linebacker. So instead I allowed myself to be shoved and then stumbled and dropped my books for good measure so as not to disappoint my attacker. I was becoming a master of physical comedy.

But did I lose my cool? I did not.

"Hey!" I complained.

"Aww, what's the matter, Sissy Chrissy? You more comfortable in your high heels?"

I turned and faced my attacker. "Ash," I said through gritted teeth.

"Where are your tits, you little fag?" he taunted. "You look so sad pretending to be a boy."

Someone laughed, and I spotted Wade standing right behind him, backing up Ash as usual. They of course didn't know I was Prodigious Girl, so they had no reason to suspect I had super powers. Meanwhile, since as Quasarblaze and Triggerhappy they relied on technology for their heroics, I figured they were probably just ordinary teens right now. Blaze claimed to have some affinity for technology, but I didn't think that would matter if this got physical. But still, I couldn't afford to take that chance. Secret identities notwithstanding, if a metahuman fight broke out in a crowded school there would almost certainly be casualties.

Since I didn't want to escalate this any further, I took a calming breath and said nothing.

Leah glanced at me, looking a little surprised that I wasn't going to say anything in my defense.

"Get lost, Ash," she said.

"Oh, and here's the fag hag," Ash said, eliciting another chuckle from a second guy who stood next to Wade. Terrific. Ash had another minion.

"Leah, please," I said quietly. "It's okay."

She shot me a look that said it was decidedly not okay, but then she didn't have any idea the firestorm that she was in danger of setting off.

"See, it's okay! Chrissy likes all the attention from real men," Ash jeered.

Now, just for the record, I'd like to point out the incredibly awesome patience and restraint that I was displaying here. Not just for all this nonsense or even for ruining what was quite probably my only chance with a girl. Not even for all the put-downs and innuendo that they had given me as Prodigious Girl. But also for all the bullying Ash put me through before I got my powers when he'd taken advantage of my weakness just so he could feel better about himself. And now, here I was being handed a golden opportunity to get revenge, and I was the better man. I was not going to sink to his level. Ever.

"Oh, no purse, either? Where do you keep your lipstick if you want to suck a guy off in the bathroom?"

Just then, another guy's voice cut in. It was Trace Buckley, another guy in our class.

"Hey, Ash, you seem awfully worried about who's sucking whose dicks. Worried that you might be left out?"

As Trace moved closer I noticed that our altercation was starting to attract a crowd.

"Stay out of this, fag, or I'm coming for you next."

"That's funny, I was about to make you the same offer," Trace retorted.

Enraged, Ash launched himself at Trace and slammed the other teen up against the row of lockers. Wade, ever the wingman, started to jump in, as did the other guy.

And that, dear Reader, is when I lost it. When I saw those bullies tormenting someone else—someone who'd had the courage to come to my defense!—it just sparked something in me. I'd like to think that in an alternate timeline I calmly interposed myself and found a way to defuse the situation.

As it was, however...well, it's possible that I may have overreacted just a teensy tiny bit.

* * * * *

That evening my dad got home from work early. My grandmother was being honored with a distinguished author award for her latest bestselling novel and we were going into Manhattan for the dinner that evening. She'd written a torrid superhero tell-all and while my parents were never particularly thrilled with how Gram enjoyed rubbing elbows with the superhero community, it was an olive branch on my mom's part to attend. She and Gram had some kind of falling out many years before—I didn't know what it was about and my parents never discussed it—but they'd recently mended their fences and were trying to reconnect.

Unfortunately for me, Gram had been one of the original "Summer of Love" hippies and had been disturbingly enthusiastic when she'd learned that I'd started dressing like a girl. The first time she saw me in a dress I thought she was going to keel over from the excitement. She grilled me endlessly on my plans to become a woman, took great delight in sending me dresses and outfits, and would not be dissuaded even when I told her that my dressing this way was strictly temporary.

"Of course it is, dear," she said with a wink.

And so it was that when Dad entered the house that evening he walked in to find me sitting on the sofa in the living room and prettily made up in an outfit that Gram had sent me that consisted of an eye-catching coral lace wrap dress and sling-back heels. (But in an act of willful defiance I did not wear the cute matching poufy feathered hair clip. Vive la resistance!) I also wore a very sour expression that I'd hoped would properly convey my disapproval of this injustice, although I'm pretty sure it came across as "petulant princess."

Mom was standing right behind me and immediately made eye contact with my father, who used his razor-sharp parenting skills to quickly surmise that Something Was Up. I could clearly see the "fight or flight" response cross over his face.

"Tell your father what you did!" Mom commanded me. I hadn't even opened my mouth before she demanded of my father, "Do you know what your son did today?" Dad started to open his mouth, but she cut him off, too. "He got into a fight!"

Dad looked at me in surprise. "Dressed like that?" He sounded impressed.

"No, it was with a boy at school. He's been suspended for a week!"

Dad nodded slowly as he processed that information. I could tell that he seemed a little thrown by the situation and at the time I suspected he was trying to reconcile this new evidence with my otherwise untarnished reputation. However, with the benefit of hindsight I've since come to suspect that while years before he might have prepared himself for the possibility that he might have to one day discipline his son for getting into a fight, he probably never envisioned that selfsame son being dressed as a junior bridesmaid at the time.

He cocked his head uncertainly. "So, did you win?"

Mom was aghast. "Stephen, we are not encouraging this!"

"No, no, of course not," Dad agreed. "Fighting is wrong, Chris," he told me solemnly. But with his back to Mom, he raised his eyebrows in inquiry. I gave him a little nod, and he made a satisfied little "Hmm."

Mom looked between us suspiciously. "We should get going or we're going to be late," she said.

The drive up to New York was quiet and tense, punctuated occasionally with Mom's whispers to Dad about their obvious failings as parents while we all pretended that I couldn't hear them perfectly well from the back seat.

Eventually, I had enough. "Don't you at least want to hear my side of it?" I asked.

"That was inexcusable behavior, Christopher," my mom insisted.

Ugh, I hated it when she used my full name. It was time to break out the heavy artillery.

"You're always saying how we should listen to others and consider other points of view, but I guess that doesn't apply when the guy with the other perspective is wearing a dress," I said bitterly. I knew it was a cheap shot, but they were asking for it. Also, I was still nursing a grudge from two summers earlier when I'd had a chance to go to Space Camp and instead they'd sent me to debate camp, and I'd vowed to use the skills I'd learned there to make them rue that decision at every opportunity. Silence fell within the car and I noted with satisfaction the guilty glance my parents shared.

"They said you almost broke another boy's arm," my mom said accusingly. "They said you bullied him."

"Now, that—that is—okay, that is technically true," I admitted. "But there's more to it than that!"

"Go on."

"Well, now that everybody in school knows that I dress like this—" I paused significantly in the hopes of inflicting some guilt on them, but they didn't react so I continued, "—I get teased all the time. It's really juvenile, like calling me a faggot, or 'Sissy Chrissy.'"

I hated to admit it, but the name calling really did get under my skin. Though honestly what really pissed me off is how they came up with a blindingly obvious taunt like "Sissy Chrissy" and then acted like it was the height of cleverness because it rhymed. You think that's something? Try coming up with an original quip on the fly to taunt the Tangerine Centipede while you're dodging his poison quills. I mean, "Sissy Chrissy"...c'mon, really? I bet that moron lost sleep staying up nights to come up with that lame insult.

"That's still no reason to get into a fight," Mom huffed indignantly.

"I didn't!" I protested. "Ash and these other guys were hassling me again, calling me names and shoving me around and calling me gay and stuff, and that's when Trace jumped in. He's really gay."

"Christopher!"

"No, no, I mean he's actually gay! He came out and everything. Anyway, so he jumps to my defense and then the guys started in on him, calling him a fag, and the next thing I know, Ash pounces on him and pretty soon Trace is getting his butt kicked by three guys."

"Then what happened?" Dad asked.

"This one girl ran off to get help, but I couldn't just stand there and watch him get beat up after he'd tried to stand up for me, so I pulled Ash off and then got him in an arm lock and threatened to break his arm if they didn't back off," I said as I fidgeted with the hem of my skirt. "But I wasn't really going to do it."

"Hm," Mom said. "And that's when the Vice Principal showed up?"

I cleared my throat nervously. "He came along...a little after."

Mom turned around in her seat to look me in the eyes. She raised an eyebrow.

"Um...when I had Ash in the arm lock, I may have...encouraged...him to tell everyone how jealous he is of sissies."

My dad coughed once to cover his short laugh as my mom gave a little grumble of disapproval. "Well, I suppose that's not so bad—"

"...before I made him sing the sissy song," I added with a wince.

"The what?"

"I, uh, had him make up a song on the spot about how great it is to be a sissy and sing it for everybody." I looked down in my lap, suddenly very interested in my manicure.

Now, dear Reader, let me be very clear on this point. What I did was wrong, wrong, wrong. In a moment of weakness I used my superior strength to humiliate an opponent who stood no chance against me. I was a bully by any meaningful definition of the term, and I will forever bear the shame of that moment when I used my powers for my own selfish purposes. And when I think back to Ashton Raleigh singing his sissy song about how his name was Nancy and he loved to kiss the boys, I will always think: totally worth it.

I wasn't so sure that my parents would agree.

"Mmm-hm," my mother intoned as she sat back in her seat. I saw her glance over at my father.

"Anything else?" my father said. He had a funny tone to his voice.

I fretted with the long hair of my wig. "I...might have invited him over to the house after school to play dress-up," I offered. "But I don't think he's going to take me up on it."

The car fell silent, with the sound of the road outside the only noise. I wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign.

Then my parents both burst out laughing.

"F-fighting is wrong," my mom giggled. "You should be very ashamed of yourself."

My dad was trembling as he struggled to restrain his laughter. "Your mother's right," he whimpered. "I'm v-very disappointed in you, son." His shoulders shook as he noiselessly laughed and he covered his mouth with one hand and took ragged breaths as he tried to regain his composure.

As they calmed down, I looked up shyly and gave a wry little grin as Mom peered over her shoulder at me and just smiled and shook her head. Then she reached into her purse and handed me the poufy feathered hair clip that I'd left at home.

"Mom..." I whined.

"Grandma wants to see you in it," she explained. "But if you'd prefer not to, I'm sure she'd love to hear you perform the 'sissy song' instead?" she added with a smirk.

I quickly affixed the clip into my wig and looked at her apprehensively.

"Mmm-hm," she intoned again as she settled back in her seat and shared a sly smile with my dad.

* * * * *

At the awards dinner Gram was in her element and worked the room like a woman half her age. It was a semi-formal affair, and everyone was in suits and dresses except for the handful of heroes and heroines who were present who had been the subjects of her semi-fictional book. For my own part, I felt even more ridiculous than usual and felt totally out of place in my more grown-up dress, although thankfully nobody else seemed to think so. My impersonation had improved so that most people just assumed that I was a young woman—albeit one generously endowed for my age—and more than once I caught men glance over at my mom's bosom after looking at me, obviously wondering where I'd inherited it from. After the scene repeated itself a few times, I had half a mind to whip out one of my falsies and show them.

My parents seemed uncomfortable as well. At first I thought that it was because of me, but the moment we'd entered the main hall with the oversize posterboard display of the book cover—Tattered Capes, Shattered Lives by Barbara Olsen—I noticed them share an uneasy glance. Their apprehension only seemed to be magnified when they saw the heroes in attendance who were milling around. Feeling more than a bit awkward myself, I discreetly tugged at my dress and wondered if I might have been more comfortable had I been there as Prodigious Girl. It might have been worth it just to see the looks on my parents' faces.

However, I did get a little smile out of seeing Mom and Dad bend over backwards to avoid any gendered pronouns when referring to me. They obviously saw the wisdom in letting people assume I was a girl but also couldn't bring themselves to call me their daughter, which led to some amusing linguistic dodges.

"This is Chris. Chris is our...pride and joy. Sixteen now and doing very well in school," my dad said to an older couple.

"What a lovely young woman! I bet a girl as pretty as you is driving your father crazy bringing home boyfriends."

I affected a cheerful smile. "That would be pretty crazy-making, huh, Dad?"

He shot me a look that seemed to go over the heads of the elderly couple. "Chris has been busy with...extracurricular activities," he volunteered.

"Oh, are you a cheerleader, dear?"

"Nope. Ultimate Frisbee."

"Oh, an athlete. Do you get that from your mother or your father?"

"You know, I kind of take after both," I said with a smile as my parents shifted uncomfortably. I felt a little guilty, but if it gave them a taste of the junk I had to put up with, I figured it'd be good for them.

My smug attitude evaporated when my grandmother came breezing over as she made her rounds. After saying hello and gushing over how adult and feminine I looked in my dress, she made a point of presenting me to everyone as "my transgender granddaughter," much to the vexation of myself and my parents. Things came to a head when she made a point of introducing us to a doctor who specialized in plastic surgery and Gram started in on my parents about finding me a therapist that specialized in transgender issues so that I could begin a regimen of female hormones. At that point, Dad finally intervened.

"Chris hasn't made any decisions about making this permanent yet," he said. My cheeks were burning with embarrassment and I wanted to cry out that the last thing I wanted was to spend another day like this, but I knew that would start a fight that wouldn't end well.

"But of course we'll support whatever decision he makes," Mom added.

Gram gave me a knowing look. "Well, I'm sure that whatever she chooses, it'll be the right thing for her," she said, relishing the feminine pronouns. Then she leaned over confidentially and added, "But don't wait too long on the hormones, dear. The sooner you start, the more likely you'll get the bosom you're hoping for," she said as she glanced significantly at my prominent chest.

Desperate to change the subject, Mom cast her eyes around the room and looked disdainfully at a scantily-clad superheroine seated over by the bar. "Ugh, there's that Decoy woman," my mom said. "What's she doing here?"

I took a look in that direction and even in the crowd she was unmistakable. She sported an unnatural fire-red mane of hair and was tall, slim, and with an eye-poppingly curvaceous figure that was packed into a skintight costume that looked more like a strappy bathing suit than something you'd wear into a metahuman fight, much less an awards dinner. Her full name was Double-Decoy (two guesses why) and I recalled that she had some kind of illusory powers which she used for creating erotic fantasies in the minds of her sexual partners. She'd had some brushes with the law, but nothing violent...her big claim to fame was that she'd been implicated in a prostitution scandal a couple years earlier involving some celebrities and politicians which had made her a darling with the tabloids.

"She calls herself Beguiler now," Gram corrected. "She had a small part in my book, but she got her nose out of joint when I got rid of her character. I'm a little surprised she bothered to come, but then she never met an open bar she didn't like."

Mom was still staring at the woman in disgust. "I think it's contemptible. Dressing like that in public is bad enough, but using her powers for...that. Ugh."

Gram smiled. "Goodness. I had no idea I raised such a prude."

"I'm nothing of the sort! But 'heroes' like that are hardly appropriate role models for impressionable—wait, where's Chris?"

I was nearly out of earshot and halfway across the room as I made a beeline for Beguiler. I heard my mom's hissed attempt to get my attention, but I ignored it as I walked up to the heroine, who had just gotten another drink from the bartender. I was surprised to note that she was alone, but as I got closer I got an idea as to why.

Beguiler was, to use the parlance of my people, a total ho skank. She had an amazing body and a pretty enough face, but everything about her seemed to be going for shock value, from her skimpy costume to her overdramatic makeup to her crown of teased hair in that unnatural red color. I was only sixteen, so to see a woman wield her sexuality that aggressively made me feel awkward and uncomfortable even as I admit it caught my interest. However, my experience as Prodigious Girl definitely tempered that reaction, and while the uptight crowd at this shindig might find her unapproachable, to me she was just another delinquent.

"Um, hi," I said, trying to get her attention.

She looked me up and down and snickered. She seemed to be in her cups, metaphorically speaking. (Speaking literally, it didn't appear that her costume was providing much help in that regard.) "God, it's true, Barb has a tranny in the family. She's always looking for ways to promote her image as a progressive champion, I bet she must have creamed her post-menopausal panties when she found out," she taunted before taking a long drink from her glass.

"She didn't say. My name's Chris. You're Beguiler, right?"

"Yeah, I don't do autographs, and despite those melons I think you're a little young for the services I provide. Look me up in a couple years, though. I'd love to get inside your head and find out what's going on with all this. It's kinky."

"You have no idea. I wanted to ask you about your name change. You used to be Double-Decoy, didn't you?"

She seemed somewhere between drunk, amused, and slightly disappointed that she hadn't been able to get a rise out of me. But at least I seemed to have captured her interest. "Yeah, sure," she said as she leaned against the bar and took another drink.

"How'd you get the name Beguiler? You had to go register it, right? How'd you know it was available?"

She laughed once. "What am I, a schmuck? I'm just gonna go down there and try a bunch of names until one finally hits?"

I sighed. "Well, okay, so how'd you do it?"

"I found the guy that was camping on the name. He was an unascended meta who'd registered it and I traded him for a few bucks. And one unforgettable night," she added with a smirk.

I nodded slowly. After the Turning Point hit Faraday City, the majority of the city's inhabitants were tagged as metahuman potentials, although only a tiny fraction ever actually "ascended" to unlock their abilities. But anybody who was metagene-positive could register even if they never actually became a superhero, and many of them did so just to camp on the names. It became quite the cottage industry after the hero registration system was developed, much to the annoyance of people like myself who actually wanted to use the hero name they chose rather than just sell it for a profit.

"So then he gave up the name and you snatched it up," I said.

"You thinking of becoming a superhero, kid? Maybe you can find whoever has 'Blonde Bombshell' reserved and see if they'd part with it for...whatever you're willing to offer."

I ignored her and tried to imagine Killbane registering as a hero. It's possible that the name "Blamestorm" just happened to be available, but if someone else had registered it first maybe I could track them down and they could help fill in the blanks. But as I considered that, another thought occurred to me, something that had been scratching at the back of my brain.

"My grandmother said she wrote your character out of her book. Why'd she do that?"

Beguiler slammed her glass on the bar. "'Cause she's an idiot who doesn't know a good thing when she sees it!"

"If you don't want to say..." I said as I held up my hands in surrender.

"Hey, fuck you, sugar tits. The old lady goes on about narrative arcs and shit, but at the end of the day, she just didn't want me in there because my being around messed up the sugar-coated cupcake she's trying to pass off as history."

My face fell as I could feel a piece of the puzzle falling into place. "W-what?"

"You heard me. She's selling a product, princess. And if someone gets in the way of selling that pretty 'triumph of the human spirit' bullshit she's shoveling to people, she just gets rid of 'em."

"Get rid of the person who doesn't fit with the new narrative..." I muttered to myself. I stumbled back on my heels as Beguiler flagged down the bartender and ordered another drink. A moment later I felt a tug on my elbow and looked up to see my dad who'd come over to collect me, but I barely registered him. Suddenly it was all so clear to me.

I'd been fixated on Killbane, but we should have been looking for the father.

* * * * *

"I don't get it," Caleb said over the phone the next morning. "And I can barely hear you. Are you outside or something?"

"I'm headed to my 'part-time job,'" I said as I flew over the city. "And look, we have to find Harridan. But she could be anywhere, and we already know where Killbane is. But whatever they did to him I'm betting they're going to do to his father, Killdozer, if they haven't already. Or maybe it didn't take and they've got him tucked away somewhere. But he's the missing piece. If we find Killdozer, I bet we find Harridan. Then maybe we get some answers."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Look, Killbane—or Blamestorm, or whatever—said his name was Derek, and he recognized me at the mall. So either my teenage transgender celebrity status has spread to the entire city, or—"

"—or he goes to our school," Caleb said. "Jeez, am I the only guy in that place who's not secretly a superhero?"

"Just get a look at his records or something. There's got to be something in his file about his father, maybe a home address."

"And how the heck am I supposed to get a look at his file? I'm not like the crazy computer nerd guy that hacks into databases for the superhero, you know."

"I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Great. Look, I gotta run, that's the bell. Enjoy your week off."

I hung up and took a pass over Prodigy's garage to make sure the coast was clear before I landed in the alleyway that had the secret entrance we used when taking the car out. Prodigy wasn't wild about me flying up to the front door, but as I pointed out to him, if the back entrance was good enough to sneak the car in, it was unobtrusive enough for me to sneak in as long as I promised to be careful.

As I entered the garage I was a little surprised to see Prodigy already there, sitting at the computer. I'd been hoping to get a little alone time with the computer to look up Killbane and Killdozer since their records on the data pad he'd given me seemed a little sketchy. And to my annoyance, there were absolutely no records for Demetria or Harridan, which were conspicuously absent.

Prodigy didn't even turn to look at me. "Aren't you supposed to be in school or something?"

I held my breath, not sure how much grief I was going to get over this, but I knew he'd probably figure it out if he hadn't already. "I got suspended for a week."

He cast an eye over at me, that same disapproving glance as always. "You get caught flashing your tits?"

I glared at him. "Yes. That is exactly what happened. I got suspended for a week for flashing my tits," I said sarcastically.

"They should have given you two weeks," he said before returning his attention to the computer. "Aren't your mommy and daddy going to miss you?"

I hesitated. "My dad's at work and my mom thinks I'm...babysitting." I winced slightly at admitting to such a girly cover story.

"You're an idiot," he sniped, his attention still on the computer. "That's a lousy alibi. The next time your mom talks to those parents she'll know you weren't there."

"They don't exist," I replied and he turned to look at me with a puzzled scowl. "We mocked up a web site for a fake babysitting service and all the clients are fictitious. Right now I'm babysitting a precocious four-year-old named Elena," I said proudly. "I even downloaded a picture onto my phone in case my mom wants to see a picture of her."

Prodigy stared at me for a moment. "Huh," he said finally, before returning to the computer.

I smiled. "I know a couple other teenage heroines who want in on the action. I'm thinking I could charge for the service."

"Yeah, don't break your arm patting yourself on the back. And stop grinning like that, you look like an idiot."

"Yes, sir," I beamed. I knew I was wearing him down.

"Well, as long as you're here you can help with something. That business with the Liberty Squadron spilled over into the city and there's some cleanup work to do."

He headed for the car and I hurried after him, still smiling. The Liberty Squadron was the superhero team, and the opportunity to rub elbows with them didn't happen every day! I imagined myself fighting alongside the likes of Promethean, Arcturus, or Tinsel and felt myself getting excited. Now that's what I had in mind when I became a hero!

* * * * *

Needless to say, things didn't exactly go the way I'd hoped. My mistake was in assuming that when the old man said "cleanup work" he meant some assignment that was minor by the Squadron's standards, which would still be a big step up compared to what I was used to. I didn't expect that I'd actually be cleaning.

Apparently whatever interdimensional fracas they'd prevented had breached into the city, which in addition to the usual significant property damage had also left a number of alien arms and artifacts among the wreckage. Such items often found their way into the cleanup crews' pockets and from there onto the black market where if we lucky they would end up in some rich guy's private collection. (If we were unlucky, they would end up in some rich guy's private collection where he would use them to try and take over the city.)

As a result, a couple other sidekicks and I found ourselves on grunt detail scouring through the wreckage and debris for any remaining alien technology. I didn't even get a chance to meet any of the Squadron, I was just assigned a huge pile of debris to sift through. Meanwhile, Prodigy and the more well-known heroes were off conferring with each other, ostensibly to coordinate our activities, but mostly I suspected to avoid the heavy lifting.

As I scrounged through the pile of debris I wiped the sweat off my brow and grumbled as I saw Prodigy and Tinsel talking to each other.

"So, you have any plans for this weekend?" I said to myself mockingly in a squeaky high-pitched voice. I actually hadn't met Tinsel—or any of the Liberty Squadron—but I'd decided that was exactly how she talked.

"I thought I'd fire up the old Victrola and take the zeppelin to visit my World War I buddies at the speakeasy," I replied in a mimicry of Prodigy's gruff voice.

I'd just tossed a girder to the side and bent over to grab another one when I heard a male voice behind me.

"You're new to the team, aren't you?"

"Sure," I replied. I didn't even bother to look, figuring it was just a policeman or emergency worker who wanted a better look at my butt, and I wasn't in the mood to turn around and give him the full show. I used to wonder how real girls put up with that crap, but the longer I spent as Prodigious Girl the more I started to realize that I was fast becoming an expert in that area, myself.

Still, there had been something strange about this guy. He hadn't sounded like one of the typical gawkers, and I was having trouble placing his accent. Plus, as I thought about it, based on where his voice had come from it sounded like he either had to be really really tall, or—

—or he was floating six feet above the ground.

I gasped and spun around.

Hovering right there before me resplendent in his white, red, and gold uniform was Promethean, looking like he had just stepped off the poster that adorned my wall at home. He was tall, handsome and incredibly muscular, with wavy golden blond hair and a disarmingly boyish smile. I knew that Trixie would freaking die to be in my shoes right now...most girls would, and more than a few guys. As Prodigious Girl I'd never felt any attraction for guys—despite lots of offers and opportunities—but an unexpected flutter raced through me and I felt myself swoon just slightly as he landed on the ground right in front of me.

I fought to stamp it down and pull myself together. You're a hero, start acting like it! I chided myself.

"Hi," I giggled.

"You're Prodigious Girl, aren't you?"

Oh, my God, he knew my name! It was all I could do not to squeal like a fangirl. Okay, play it cool, I thought. Confident and detached, a little aloof.

"Yeah," I giggled again.

Damn you, you stupid lizard brain!

"You're Prodigy's new partner, isn't that right?"

I couldn't believe I hadn't recognized his voice right away. He had a distinctive but indeterminate accent that sounded like an Americanized version of some language I wasn't familiar with. I remembered some girls in my school talking about how sexy he sounded and at the time I just scoffed, but suddenly I knew what they were talking about. Wow, had it gotten hotter? I felt flushed.

"'Partner,'" I sniffed. "That's a kind euphemism." Wow, a three-syllable word. Glad my brain finally decided to show up to the party.

Promethean smiled knowingly. "Yes, he can be a little bit gruff," he said, making me wonder if understatement was one of his super-powers. "But with most of his partners he's never even bothered to mention their names. He obviously holds you in high esteem."

I looked down and smiled.

"Have I said something funny?"

I blushed as he looked at me with those piercing blue eyes. "I really dig your accent, but I think you mispronounced that word," I told him. "You pronounced it 'esteem,' but it's actually pronounced 'contempt.'"

He laughed out loud. "That's very clever," he said as he placed a hand on my shoulder. I froze a smile on my face and tried to pay attention even as my lizard brain screamed, "He's touching me! Promethean is actually touching me! I'm never washing this shoulder again!"

I was vaguely aware of him saying something and then he smiled again and flew off into the blue. Then in a panic I realized that I hadn't been paying attention and in a mad scramble I tried to recall his words before they faded from my short-term memory. As I played it back in my head, I heard my idol say, "Well, if it doesn't work out with Prodigy, you're welcome to partner up with me any time."

* * * * *

"He said what?"

Caleb looked at me uncertainly as he closed the window that I'd used to enter his bedroom. Breaking protocol, I'd flown directly to his house and I hadn't even bothered to change, so I was sitting on his bed as Prodigious Girl and staring at him wide-eyed. (I'd heard him mutter something about superheroines in his bedroom and a waste of a good teenage fantasy, but my head was still swimming.)

"He said I could be his partner! Promethean! Can you believe it?"

"That would be pretty cool, I guess."

"You guess? Caleb, he's one of the greats!" I jumped up off the bed and started pacing around. "You remember when he fought those Blood Golems? Or how about that time when the Attraxi Genie swapped everyone's heads around and Promethean beat him using Ephemeral's body? That could be me!"

"Why would you want your head on Ephemeral's body?"

"No, I mean, I could be there! Fighting the important fights right alongside the big leaguers!"

"I thought you said all this wasn't about being a fanboy. That it was all about the people you're helping."

"Well, yeah," I said as I sat back down. "C'mon, I thought you'd be bouncing off the walls?"

"And I thought the plan was for you to sidekick to the old geezer long just long enough for him to retire or get knocked out of the picture and then you take over his name."

"Whenever that's gonna be," I grumbled. "Dude, I'm just sick of being Prodigy's gofer and human shield. Instead of being some loser's sidekick, I could be a real superhero's partner! Isn't that better?"

"But you'd be stuck as a girl."

I stopped as I realized he was right. The whole point of choosing Prodigy in the first place was that we figured he'd die or retire soon and I could take his name and rebrand myself then, gender and all. But Promethean wasn't likely to be going anywhere anytime soon, and he already had other partners in his "Promethean Family of Heroes" who would be vying for his legacy. So that meant that I'd get to be on the front lines with the big kids, but I'd have to do it as a girl. And I doubted someone as straight-laced as Promethean would react well if he learned a teenage guy had been running around as a superheroine. This offer was for Prodigious Girl.

Caleb peered at me. "Is that what you want?"

In truth, I wasn't sure. I always knew I'd have to make sacrifices as a hero, but when those stupid motivational posters tell you how you have to reach for your dreams they never seem to mention what you might find yourself wearing at the time. Or that you'd have boobs. Or how you'd have to put up with all of the sexist innuendos, cat-calls, and grab-assery.

I stood up and stretched. "I don't know, I need a soda or something," I said as I headed for the door to go downstairs to the kitchen.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

I studied his face in confusion before I realized I was still Prodigious Girl...I'd completely forgotten who I was and what I was wearing. And as I looked over at Caleb I could read the worry on his face, obviously concerned that maybe I was getting a bit too comfortable with my impersonation.

"Maybe I should change first," I said as I typed in the command on my I-Comm to open my warp closet. I retrieved my compact-sized CosFit device and activated it and soon felt the familiar sense of the nanobots crawling across my skin as they changed my costume into my civilian clothes, and as they did so I shapeshifted back into Chris.

"I gotta admit, that's pretty cool," Caleb said. "Though it would probably be cooler if you weren't changing from a girl hero into you in a dress."

"Thanks," I muttered as I tugged at an errant bra strap. The nanobots were supposed to put everything back exactly where they found them, but I swear they always had troubles with the bra. I always wanted to ask another heroine if they noticed the same problem, but it seemed like an awkward subject to bring up in conversation.

Caleb reached for a notebook on his desk and opened it up. "Oh, that reminds me, I got that information you wanted about Killbane or Blamestorm or whatever he's calling himself. His real name is Derek Morrow, and you were right about him going to our school. He transferred a couple months ago. His father's name is Dominic—I'm guessing that's Killdozer—and apparently he's been having some kind of health issue or panic attacks or something. They live on the east side, over by Industrial Avenue."

"Wow, great work," I said. "You got all that from his records at school?"

"Are you kidding me? Mrs. Campos wouldn't let me within thirty yards of those. I just asked him."

"What?!?"

"Yeah, I introduced myself at lunch. He was chatty."

"But—you can't—" I sputtered, horrified that he'd tipped our hand. But as I tried to articulate what exactly he'd done wrong, I came up empty. "And he just...volunteered all that?"

Caleb nodded. "Oh, sure. Although..."

"What'd you do?" I groaned.

"I kinda let it drop that you and I were friends and I promised to put in a good word with you. He thinks you're cute."

"Caleb!"

"What? He's new in school and you're both superheroes. I thought you might make a cute couple."

I fixed him with a look. "You're messing with me."

He smiled and snapped his fingers. "Darn it. I was hoping to at least get you guys set up on a blind date. That would have been hilarious."

"Well, you might get your wish. Right now he's our best lead at figuring out what's going on and so far my best plan is to walk up to his front door and knock. Did you get anything more on the father?"

"Maybe?" He said as he opened his laptop. "HeroSpotter has this cool feature where it doesn't just track where heroes were seen, but also who they were fighting and who they were seen with." He turned in his chair to look at me. "You never told me that you teamed up with Euphoria."

"It was just the one time," I said. And as far as I was concerned it was one time too many. Personality quirks come with the territory in the superhero business, but she was a total ditz. Cute as hell, but God, what a dingbat.

He sat back in his chair. "What a cutie. I'd really like to meet her somet—"

"Caleb?" I said, pointing to the laptop.

"Aaand another dream deferred," he sighed as he sat up straight and pulled up the site on his browser. "Okay, so Blamestorm either hasn't been out all that much or he's keeping a low profile, but not too long ago it looks like he started teaming up with this other guy. Now I'm not sure if that's his dad or—"

"That's him," I said as I looked at the image. It was a little blurry and you could only see him in profile, but he was big and heavily muscled and wore a form-fitting blue-green costume with a cowl. "That's definitely Killdozer."

"You sure you're sure?" Caleb asked. "'Cause there's a lot of heroes with muscles like that."

"Trust me, I got a really up-close look at him." I leaned closer and read the entry. "Viridian? That's what he's calling himself now?"

"Guess so," he shrugged. "Cool name, at least. Now that name would have been good for you. You—"

I closed my eyes. "Caleb, you seriously don't want to be pulling on that thread."

"Sorry," he said. "So, then, what's the plan?"

"I gotta talk to 'em, I guess."

Caleb looked at me dubiously. "These would be the same guys who nearly thrashed your entire team last time, right?"

I let out a long, slow breath. "Any suggestions?"

He turned to look at the laptop to review their entries and then turned back to me. "Be very polite," he decided. "Maybe flirt a little? Flash some leg."

* * * * *

That evening I flew over to Derek's house. I still had no earthly idea how to approach him about all of this but I was confident that something would occur to me on the flight over. But after thirty minutes of hovering several hundred feet above the small run-down houses in his neighborhood like a listless brunette weather balloon, I was starting to suspect that my brilliant plan might not be forthcoming.

I ran through the options again in my mind. Showing up unannounced on Derek's doorstep as Chris would cause the fewest waves, but I'd have to swing the conversation around to talking about his heroic identity, which I didn't think I could do without exposing my own secret identity. However, showing up on his doorstep as Prodigious Girl seemed like a great way to start a fight (in the finest tradition of needless superhero fights from the comics), or—best case—if he'd genuinely reformed I'd be outing him as a super to his family and neighbors. Ideally, I'd want to meet him while both of us were in our heroic identities, but I had no idea how to arrange that. So I just floated there apparently hoping he was going to be stupid enough to just walk up to his front door in full costume like—

*BOOM*

I saw the flash a split second before I heard the explosion that destroyed the front half of Derek's house, and streaking out of the blast like a blue-green meteor was what looked to be a man in a superhero costume. For a moment I thought he was flying away until I recognized the graceful parabolic arc that signaled that he had just been knocked back several hundred feet from an attack that originated in the house.

Not sure what was going on, I fell back on my training and headed towards the site of the greatest damage—the house—figuring that there might be people in there in need of assistance. But as I landed in the wreckage it looked like the damage to the building was catastrophic and I feared the worst for anyone who might have been inside. Then, from off to one side in what apparently used to be the now-demolished living room, I could hear soul-wracking sobs that told me I was too late.

"He killed her!" Derek sobbed. His clothes were in tatters and underneath I could see he was wearing his superhero costume. "Why would he kill her? All we had was each other!" He gently cradled the body of a middle-aged woman who stared upwards with lifeless eyes. Her neck seemed to have been broken.

"Blamestorm—Derek—I'm so sorry," I said carefully. "Who did this? I saw—"

"It was my dad, but he was out of his mind. I-I thought he was getting better—"

"Your dad. You mean Killdozer?"

"Who?"

"Dominic?" I tried. "Viridian?"

"How do you know about all that?" he said, wiping his tears.

"It's not important. You said he was getting better. What was wrong with him?"

Derek shook his head. "Dad's been...unstable. Moody. Angry. But tonight he just snapped. He was crazy, like—"

"RAAAAAGGHHH!"

I turned barely in time to see a heavily-muscled super in a blue-green costume—obviously Viridian—bound into the wreckage of the building and land right next to Derek. Before either of us could react, the enraged strongman backhanded his son, sending him flying through the remains of the front wall and out into the street.

Figuring Viridian was the clear and present danger, I pounced on him and grabbed him from behind, trying to restrain him. From our earlier fight I knew he was a lot stronger than me but I hoped to get some leverage on him and maybe talk him down. As I grappled with him from behind I lifted us a few feet off the ground to make sure he couldn't use my own plan against me, and the maneuver left him facing the lifeless body of his wife lying there amid the rubble. I thought maybe the sight might help shock him back to his senses.

"Viridian! Dominic!" I cried as I struggled to hold him. "Calm down! I'm not here to hurt you! I only want—"

My pleas were cut short when he got an arm loose and slammed his elbow into my gut hard enough that I thought I felt a rib give way. As I reeled from the blow he grabbed me by the hair—again with the hair, this guy!—and forcefully threw me through the wall. It felt like every part of my body hurt as I realized I was sitting in a plush leather seat. For a moment I thought I was hallucinating before I realized I'd smashed through the roof of a car parked on the street.

"Are you okay?" a voice came. Bleary-eyed I looked up to see Blamestorm, now fully in his costume with his mask in place as he tore the remains of the car door away. He offered a hand to help me out.

"Ow," I said, gently cradling my ribs.

"I don't want to hurt him. I don't know why he's like this, but he's still my father."

"I don't think there's a lot of risk of hurting him," I said as I looked up and down the street. House lights were turning on and people were stepping outside or looking out their windows to see what all the noise was about. "We have to move him away from here."

He thought for a moment. "There's a construction site less than a mile away."

"Yeah, I saw it."

"How do we get him to follow us?" he asked.

"Oh, don't worry," I said with a wince as a lance of pain ran up my side. "I'm kind of an expert at that." Focusing through the pain I picked up the remains of the car that I'd landed on and hurled it at the remains of the house, right where Viridian had emerged. The car slammed into him with a very satisfying crash, but the howl that emerged was more from rage than injury.

"Time to go," I said.

I grabbed Blamestorm and took off, making sure that Viridian had a good view of us as he threw the debris to the side. I sped for the construction site as Viridian bounded after us in hot pursuit. I'd love to say that I was going deliberately slowly to avoid losing him, but he seemed to be doing a pretty good job of keeping up on his own.

We landed at the site and I looked at Blamestorm. I had about a million questions for him but with his father only seconds away I knew I had to stay focused. "Hey," I said. "Hey, look at me. He's too strong for me. I can't beat him by myself. Are you up for this?"

He nodded, although with less certainty than I'd hoped.

"Good. Get out of sight and I'll get his attention. When he lands, hit him, and hit him hard!"

"But—!"

"He can take it!" I assured him, and a lot better than I can, I thought to myself. "We have to finish this fast or more people are going to die!" I felt lousy reminding him of his mother's death like that and using it to motivate him, but we were out of time. For a fleeting moment I wondered if that's how Prodigy developed his sunny disposition, always putting the mission first.

I didn't have time to think about it. Only a moment after Blamestorm ducked out of sight, Viridian landed twenty feet in front of me and the ground shook from the impact.

"Oh, good. No trouble finding the place, I hope? For a minute there I thought we'd lost you," I said.

Viridian's mask covered the top half of his face but I could still see his eyes and it looked like he'd gone feral or something.

"GRRAAAAAH!" he roared as he launched himself at me with reckless abandon. I dove out of the way and barely eluded his savage grasp...at least I thought I had. It turned out that he'd managed to get a grip on my cape, and he yanked on it hard to pull me closer. Or he would have if the cape hadn't pulled loose.

"It's a breakaway clasp," I explained. "People try that move a lot. Though that was a jerk move pulling on my hair."

He roared again and grabbed a nearby bag of concrete and hurled it at me like he was throwing a softball. I gave a startled yelp and jumped skyward as the projectile missed me by a whisker and demolished a storage shed.

"Okay," I said as I hovered overhead, "I feel like I'm doing all the work here to keep the conversation going? But if you want to talk about sports or something, I'd be more than happy to—cheese and crackers!" I exclaimed as a piece of rebar sailed by my head with lethal velocity.

Viridian growled and bared his teeth as he armed himself with another piece of rebar. He was just about to hurl it at me when Blamestorm came up from the side. But instead of coming out shooting, he'd pulled his mask back off his face.

"Dad, it's me. It's Derek," he said as he edged slowly closer, and Viridian, wild-eyed, turned and stood unmoving as he watched his son's cautious approach.

"This isn't the plaaaan..." I said in a sing-song voice as I slowly lowered myself to the ground in case I needed to make a quick move.

"Dad, this isn't you. You gotta listen to me. You gotta—"

Viridian roared again and launched the piece of rebar at his son. It happened so fast I barely had time to process it before I saw it sticking out of Blamestorm's chest and he slumped to the ground, dead.

I froze in shock, certain that my eyes had somehow deceived me as things seemed to slip into slow motion. I hardly knew him but seeing his life snuffed out so suddenly and capriciously left me disoriented. I took a tentative step towards his body, perhaps in the vain hope that CPR might revive him even though I knew in my heart he was gone.

"Blamest—!" I started before Viridian was on me like a wild animal. He viciously backhanded me and I sailed into the superstructure of the building and slammed against an iron girder so hard that I saw stars as I slumped to the ground. I blinked away the pain as a blue-green blur was on top of me and I felt huge powerful hands wrap around my throat and start to squeeze.

I struggled madly in his grasp and tried not to panic and to remember my training but all I could think about was how I wasn't getting any air and that I was going to die here, killed by this maniac.

Suddenly, two things happened, neither one of which I could readily explain. First, I felt his grip on me weaken as I pried desperately at his fingers. I pulled at them and managed to pry his hands loose as I greedily sucked air into my burning lungs. I was a long way from having this under control, but for a moment I thought I might have a fair fight on my hands.

Then, a few seconds later, I noticed a bright red glow emerge right between us. Viridian seemed just as startled by this as I was, perhaps even more so. So neither one of us were prepared when we looked down and saw the bright red point of a glowing sword sticking out of his chest.

His grip went slack and I released him in confusion as he fell to the ground, quiet and unmoving. I looked up to see Harridan standing there, holding her quantum blade that she'd just pulled out of Viridian's back.

"You're welcome," she said.

"You killed him!"

"And just in the nick of time, it seems."

"You didn't have to kill him, we could have taken him together!"

"Was that your plan with this one?" she asked as she bent over to check Blamestorm's vitals. She nodded and stood up. "Shame I wasn't here sooner or maybe I could have saved him, too." She calmly tapped a control on her wrist and a mini surveillance drone flew down and attached itself to her belt. "Still, I think the footage will justify my use of lethal force, especially to rescue a Sidekick who was knowingly fighting above her weight class," she said. "Next time? Call in the adults."

"You don't fool me," I told her. "You expect me to believe you just happened to be here? You wanted them both dead. You did something to them. To both of them. Villains turned heroes going on crazed rampages? Demetria's in on it, too, isn't she?"

"You read too many comic books, sweetie," she replied as she turned to leave.

"I'm not just letting you walk away from this," I said, interposing myself. "Three people are dead."

She looked me over and flashed a cocky smile. "Oh, darling, that is precious," she taunted. "You're feisty, I'll give you that. But in three days, it won't make a damn bit of difference how feisty you are." She took a step closer. "Make no mistake, little girl, this is a game for grown-ups. And if you ever get in my way again, you won't know what hit you."

Before I could say anything, she touched a control on her belt and a teleport gate flashed into existence and swept her away in the blink of an eye.

I looked over the wreckage and the bodies of the two dead supers as I heard the sound of sirens in the distance getting closer. "This isn't over," I said to myself. "I'm not letting this one go."